


Drabbles

by metal_eye



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Beard Burn, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Prompt Fic, Short, Social Anxiety, Werewolves, except not literally, metaphorical werewolves, sexy fruit, werewolf jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metal_eye/pseuds/metal_eye
Summary: Prompt 1: Inspired by your favorite song or poem (in my case, T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Afred Prufrock").Harry is anxious and then eats fruit.





	1. Peach

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely [Bri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriaMaria) and I drink wine and write prompts. This is what results. I hope it's not the end.

Harry pressed his back solidly against his bedroom door, limbs stretched top to bottom, as if his cells might decide to seep aside and let intentions slide into the hall — short as it was — and soon swoop upon the living room, where Louis stood.

Harry wiggled his toes, restless, so close to twisting the knob into release, but still hesitant. Harry was always awkward. He never knew what to say. He curled fingers against his scalp in constant self-consciousness, tongue thick and slow upon his lips as he attempted speech.

Louis was light and clean and full of joy, descending spryly into the house to drop his sisters off for study, letting go of his smile until it inevitably floated skyward and crowded his eyes into closing. His cheeks would turn upward, too lofty, like they had to squeeze through a skylight or otherwise suffocate. It was painful to watch, at least for Harry, whose droopy face could never behave the way he wanted in the space of such perfection.

He took a deep breath, steeling certain muscles, attempting a kind of meditation. Did he dare?

The crack of the bedroom door seemed impossibly loud, but Harry’s motion had been smoothed by a single conviction, and if he stopped now, the scene would surely stall — sputtering like a stick-shift car between gears. He clenched his teeth and kept going, pointedly, at the kitchen counter and a bowl of peaches.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Finally, on the finish line, Harry reached upward to wipe sweat from his forehead as he tried to imagine a more comforting landing — a lagoon, perhaps, with undulating seaweed and well-acquainted spots of stillness. He could feel every imperfect feature on his face.

“Hey, Harry,” he heard shortly, a high voice, prepared. Belonging to lulled happiness. “What’s up?”

It woke his salted limbs from sleep, and Harry leaned as naturally as possible into a mic counter edge cool enough to remind him of poise. “Peach?” he asked, lifting the fruit into a hopeful space.


	2. Werewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2: Werewolves.
> 
> Drabble 2: Louis grows facial hair so fast he might as well be a werewolf.

Harry peers into his bathroom mirror, trying to see past the steam left from his shower. In his head, he’s rising out of the highland moors. He fancies himself a backpacker in the mists, perhaps headed toward the Slaughtered Lamb, biding his time until the wolf takes shape at the side of his vision. It growls mysteriously as if to shed its daytime demeanor.

But such a fantasy would require facial hair — something Harry distinctly lacked, even still.

He sighs and fingers at the tufts of chin fur that his face has decided will pass for stubble. A whistle releases pathetically from the side of his lip. _Beard burn. The goal is to give him beard burn._ But.

 _Ticklish!!_ Louis cries, much to Harry’s chagrin, every time. _Your face tickles!_

 _It’s not supposed to tickle,_ Harry whines. _It’s supposed to burn, like yours. In a sexy way!_

_Mmm. Too soft._

Harry pouts at the lingering steam.

“Sexy.”

Harry jerks his eyes to the bathroom door, suddenly remembering his post-shower nudity. Louis gives a wolfish grin and enters. He rubs at his own half-beard, ice blue eyes wild. Harry thinks he can see the full moon behind them, and Louis running under it like a beast let loose. It suits him terribly.

Feeling a pang of hunger, Harry blurts, “Are you a werewolf?”

“Gonna eat you up,” says Louis, and Harry believes him.


End file.
